Not Okay
by socks-lost
Summary: Watching someone fighting a losing battle to hold it together is the worst kind of heartache. Everyone has their breaking points. Strong T for strong themes. Very angsty and kind of dark. One-shot.


**A/N: **So this is set after 2x10 but not like directly, if that makes sense. Like a couple months or so afterwards and definitely before 2x15. But I used Cavanaugh's math in 3x01 to figure how long they've known each other (he said he was worried about losing five years' worth of convictions.) Also I've been listening to Superman by Five For Fighting on repeat and it gives me a lot of feels okay? I would like to thank IsaBabisa for helping me out on this one.

I talk about religion (and losing it) so if you are easily offended by that kind of thing (and I don't mean to offend) then you probably shouldn't read this. I talk about Hoyt and the basement. And there is some language. It's on the darker side. A very strong T.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the characters. Not making money. Etc.

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Jane was never any good at admitting she was in pain, physically or otherwise. She could never just come out and say it. She'd say she was tired or it was a long day or some version thereof. She'd say it wasn't about pride or looking tough in front of the guys but it was. Mostly, anyways.

She grew up with two brothers in a normal suburban neighborhood with lots of other kids on the block. As she got older and her mother let her play by herself she quickly found her niche playing street and backyard sports with the other kids in the neighborhood. After all, it was either play street hockey with friends or stay inside alone playing Barbie's. It was clear what the winner was going to be in that situation. Being one of the few girls in the group, she constantly had to prove herself. Running to mommy because she scraped her knee wasn't going to cut it. If someone had the balls to knock her down she made damn sure she knocked them right back twice as hard. It was a quick way to earn street cred and it let others know she meant business. Then there was the fact that she was the oldest of three which meant she always had to put on a brave face when doing something unpleasant. Like getting shots or going to the dentist.

Over the years she found that admitting pain meant admitting weakness. It meant getting benched during a field hockey tournament, it meant not going out with friends, and it meant getting put on desk duty. But mostly admitting pain or suffering meant that she wasn't okay. And she_ always_ had to be okay. Not being okay wasn't an option, ever. She'd seen what not being okay looked like on other cops. She'd seen how they broke. For some it was a slow melt of a glacier but for others it was as explosive as a volcano. She'd seen careers ruined from being _not okay_, from people admitting and succumbing to the pain they felt inside. She didn't want any part of that. She wanted to wear the shield on her right hip forever. They would have to lay her to rest with it clutched in her cold, dead hands. The job was who she was, it was everything. Her entire life, all of her relationships, and all of her friends centered around that shiny piece of metal and leather. Eventually she learned to control her emotions and keep them in check. With every use of lethal force she convinced herself it was for the greater good. She convinced herself that death was a part of life and they all went eventually. She convinced herself that she was right as rain. Because she was A-Okay. But then Hoyt happened.

After the first few months she was indefinitely chained to a desk. She was most definitely _not_ okay, and her colleagues had never known a Jane Rizzoli that wasn't okay. Everyone was walking on eggshells around her, waiting for her to get her shit back together. The surgeon had torn down all of her walls and defenses leaving her mind wrecked and fragile.

Hoyt had humiliated her. He took every ounce of control she had away from her. He degraded her. The kind that was a million times worse than being chubby and a late bloomer in junior high and being made fun of for it in the locker room. She didn't think anything could be worse than those grueling taunts, but she was very, very wrong. Hoyt made her weak and submissive. He had her in the palm of his hand; he could do whatever he wanted to her. The badge she wore, glorified even, and hid behind had given her a complex. It was a saving people, sacrificial, invincible complex. When he pinned her to the dirty basement floor he stripped her of all of that. All of the macho-ness, the swagger, the acting like she was big and bad and tough was all completely gone. It just vanished into thin air, disappearing when she needed it most. Jane remembered how he whispered in her ear. He said he finally met his match, a worthy opponent. He didn't say anything else. He didn't have to; it was written all in the snarl of his lips and his barred teeth. He deconstructed her right then and there. He got into her head. He tore apart everything she was, everything she hoped to be and solidified it with one knowing look. She was his and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. He made the savior become the distressed. He made her what every cop somehow thought themselves above because they were the white knights in the story, always. He made her a victim, a name in a report, a number. But he was dead – she'd killed him – and she was very much alive. That had to mean something right?

Jane looked at her hands. The bastard had been dead for a while now. Most of the time, if she kept busy enough, she could forget about it. She could act like it never happened. But there were days when her hands were constantly aching, days her writing was ineligible because she couldn't hold the pen still. Those were days where she couldn't pretend anymore. It usually happened when it was raining or in the cold Boston winters. She was lucky that she could use her hands. She went to the library once on a secret mission incognito to look at an anatomy book. She was surprised to find out there was a lot of junk to screw up in the hands. There were all kinds of muscles and tendons, nerves and even arteries. The only reason she was able to keep doing her job was because of the fantastic surgeons at Mass. General and months of rehab. She was lucky, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

The searing pain throughout her hands brought her back to reality and back to her apartment. It was that kind of burning pain that made her heart race and her palms sweat. It made her teeth itch and her hair hurt. She wanted to throw her head into a brick wall repeatedly until she either passed out or had such a headache the pain in her hands was nothing. It started in her palms at each of the raised scars and radiated through each finger and into her wrists shooting around like electricity in her veins. She could already feel her armor cracking under the pressure, could feel herself slowly coming undone. She just needed something to take the edge off; something to lessen the impact. But she couldn't get the damn ibuprofen bottle open.

Jane was on her couch with her hands shoved under her thighs, knees bouncing, as she glared at the bottle in question. When she bought the stupid thing she forgot to check to see if it was the easy open pop top kind so of course she wound up with the childproof twist and push kind of bottle instead. After a full week of work and a twelve hour shift her hands just didn't want to work anymore. She couldn't produce enough pressure to get the stupid cap off. All she could hear for the last half hour as she tried to get it open was that stupid, irritating clicking noise. It was the noise of failure, the noise of not okay and it was slowly swallowing her, drowning her, like a whirlpool. She was a senior, first grade detective. She worked in the homicide unit. She'd looked death in the face with a smirk and wave on more than one occasion. She ate danger for breakfast, lunch and dinner and that hazy time at three AM where she couldn't tell if it was too late or too early. She was Jane Rizzoli the Badass, and here she was being bested by a twist cap bottle of ibuprofen. It was pathetic, and therefore, she was pathetic by association.

Jane gave a heavy sigh rolling her jaw to the side. Her left eyelid twitched. It was always in these moments when she was alone that she felt the weakest. Like her pride and strength were crumbling around her. She was on the brink between holding on and falling apart, like she was standing on the side of a cliff. With one wrong move, one faulty step, she could slip and fall and shatter into pieces. Sometimes she fell, sometimes she didn't. She had a feeling that night was going to be a falling kind of night. It didn't even surprise her when the first tears ran down her face. She didn't even bother trying to wipe them away.

…

Maura was never a fighter. She just accepted things the way they were, took what people gave her and worked with it. She thought she'd never be a fighter. Arguing was just so pointless, a waste of time. But the woman who she was currently angry at had changed all of that. Jane Rizzoli was a combative person by nature. If she didn't think something was right, or if she just didn't like something she'd say so. Arguing over frivolous things became a game she had to learn how to play if she wanted to spend more time with the detective. If it was anyone else she wouldn't have even bothered but something about the raven haired woman intrigued her. It was like Jane was the cool kid on campus and in a twist of fate, Maura, the nerdy kid on the outside looking in, wanted to be friends with her.

Through their years of friendship Jane taught her that it was okay to want things and fighting for those wants – fighting for anything – was okay. And Jane made her fight. She had to fight for the remote – but never when the Red Sox, the Patriots, or the Bruins were on. She had to fight for what to order (or cook) for dinner, if they had wine or beer, whose house they stayed at, what to watch on movie night. Professionally, she had to fight Jane's impatience, her need for answers and her need to close cases. Then there were the times that she had to fight Jane herself, much like what she was doing now.

Maura slammed her car door shut and pulled the collar of her coat closer to her neck. Mindful of the accumulating snow, she slowly made her way up the steps to Jane's building. She opened the door irritably with a scowl and an eye roll. She could have been at home in her pajamas taking comfort in a good book next to her fireplace, but no. Instead, a worried feeling had crept into her subconscious and she couldn't shake it. Maura knocked on Jane's door.

A few minutes later still standing in the hallway, Maura tried talking. "Jane?" By this point she'd been knocking on the door nearing on five minutes and still there was nary a sound coming from inside the apartment. She'd tried calling but Jane's phone went straight to voicemail. She banged on the door one more time. "Open the door, Jane!" The slow burning anger that resided inside her slowly started to bite at her heels, egging her on. She was there for Jane, she could have been home nestled into bed with a good book but she was there in the cold hallway of Jane's apartment because she was worried about her friend. And Jane wouldn't even pick up her phone? No. Maura had enough.

Jane liked to pretend that things didn't bother her, ever, that she was invincible. But Maura was fluent in the Language of Jane and she was a doctor. She could see through the sarcasm and the anger. All week Jane had looked tired and ragged, like she was constantly almost running out of gas. On more than one occasion she'd actually caught Jane asleep at her desk. The week started off drizzly and cold. They got a body of a deputy from the Suffolk County Sherriff's office in his uniform. She had ruled it a suicide. Later the detectives found a note that confirmed it. Then there was an elderly woman who had a stroke while sleeping. On Thursday they got the body of a man who got too drunk on his boat, hit his head and fell off into the lake where he drowned. It was a hard week for everyone. After doing their jobs for as long as they had it was easy to forget that sometimes people just died.

Maura saw Jane's ever sinking shoulders, her posture by the end of the week was downright terrible. She saw the darkening around Jane's eyes. Her sarcasm and teasing only held half the heart it normally did. She was scared that Jane was going to fall apart and no one would be there to help her because she was so stubborn. Ultimately, she just didn't want Jane on her table. The longer she banged on Jane's door the more afraid she became that it might've been too late. Maura looked at the keys she held in her hand. A couple months ago Jane gave her a key to her apartment. It was for emergencies or if she ever needed a safe place to go. She knew what kind of trust having this key in her possession meant and she wasn't about to defile that trust like Jane's intrusive mother so often did. She knocked one last time but still Jane did not come to the door. She bit her bottom lip. "Fine, Jane, be that way." Maura mumbled with a sigh. Jane had given her no choice; she slipped the key into the door unlocking it.

Jane was walking out of her hallway bathroom when she heard her front door open and saw the top of Maura's head. "Welcome to the old homestead then, Dr. Isles." She said sarcastically wiping her hand under her red nose.

Maura turned her head at the voice. When her eyes landed on Jane she felt her breath catch in her throat. Jane's eyes were bloodshot and her face was puffy. The makeup from the day was gone and even Jane's wild curls seemed to be subdued like they too lost the will to fight. The sight was heart wrenching and rendered Maura speechless for a moment. She cleared her throat trying to find the right words. "Jane," She could literally feel the wall Jane raised and immediately regretted her tone.

"You know, when people don't answer their phones or doors most take that as a sign to leave said people alone." Jane glared at the medical examiner before walking to her couch to sit down.

"You've not been acting like yourself this week." Maura said finally finding her voice. She set her purse on Jane's desk before walking closer to the couch.

"You would know wouldn't you?" Jane mumbled under her breath. "Look, Maura, I appreciate the concern but I'm fine." She rubbed her still aching hands together.

At the words something inside Maura snapped. How many times had she leaned on Jane's shoulder? How many times had she hugged the taller woman as tears fell from her own eyes? Give and take. That's how relationships worked. And Maura was tired of taking. "Oh that's right! I forgot who I'm speaking to." She laughed humorlessly giving Jane a glare. "You're the great Detective Jane Rizzoli." She dropped her voice an octave lower to say Jane's name. "Nothing scares you, death doesn't bother you, your hands never hurt, and you _always _get a good night's sleep." Maura nodded her head seriously before giving Jane a pointed look. "It's bullshit, Jane."

If Jane was shocked to hear the curse coming from her refined and educated friend she didn't show it. She crossed her arms staring straight ahead with a locked jaw. "Fuck you."

"Oh, 'fuck you'?" Maura's eyebrows rose. "That's the best you can come up with. I'm disappointed, Detective." She laughed coldly. Jane stiffened. "You think you can just say a few curse words and I'll leave? You think you can just sit and glare and snarl at me? You think that scares me?" Maura sat down on the coffee table in front of Jane with their knees almost touching. "You don't scare me, Jane. You can't dominate me. And I'm not leaving you."

"God, Maura, why?" Jane whined. "Everyone quits trying to fix me eventually, even my own mother, so why don't you take note?" Her knee was bouncing uncontrollably now. She just wanted to be alone.

"Because I'm your –"

"My what, Maura?" Jane interrupted again. "Because I've been awfully confused about that lately."

"I'm your _best friend." _Maura looked at Jane trying to ignore her own rapidly beating heart. "At this point I'm fairly certain that nothing is ever going to change that. Besides, you're the one that walked away from that conversation but I'm not here about that. I'm here because my best friend is too stubborn to tell anyone she needs anything. I'm not making you ask Jane. Just let me be here for you." Maura said sincerely placing her hand on Jane's bouncing knee to still it. The hardness fell from her face. "You've given me so much, Jane. Let me help you. Use me, yell at me, lean on me, whatever you want, I won't tell." She swallowed. "Nothing you say or do is going to make me think less of you. I won't leave."

"Maura, it's been a long week you should go home." Jane tried one last attempt to make the ME leave.

Maura rolled her eyes. "Yes, but I'm here with you. So what does that tell you, Detective?" She pursed her lips.

Jane snorted. "It tells me you're not as smart as you think you are and you ruined your night to check on my non-existent problems." She sighed looking up at Maura. Whatever argument she had going in her head immediately died in her throat. Maura had determination written all over her face. And Jane knew that no matter what she told the woman she wasn't going to leave. She brought a still shaking hand to the bridge of her nose. She could feel the tension headache already building. "Can you open that?" She asked pointing to the bottle next to Maura's leg.

PAGE BREAK PAGE BREAK WHERE I WOULD PUT CHAPTER TWO BUT I'M TOO LAZY TO

After giving the detective the water and medicine Maura walked back into the kitchen. It was clear Jane wasn't going to talk anymore. The silence in the apartment was deafening, she could hear Jane's stomach growl. She rolled her eyes. Jane could be highly irritating at times like these. She looked back at the living room to find Jane on her side with her head buried in a pillow. She turned back to the kitchen digging through Jane's cabinets. She found spaghetti noodles and a jar of sauce. She could almost always count on Jane having some form of pasta in her cabinets.

Jane groaned into the pillow cushion as the smells from the kitchen wafted towards her. She sat up quietly putting her head in her hands. She started taking long slow breaths to calm her rapidly beating heart and haywire emotions. Maura turned around towards the living room once more to tell Jane dinner was ready when she felt her breath catch. Jane's shoulders were slumped forward, her back hunched, it was as if her sternum had collapsed and her spinal cord had turned into gelatin. Seeing someone as strong as Jane losing the fight to not fall apart was the worst kind of heartache. Suddenly Maura felt a rush of protectiveness jolt through her body. She wanted nothing more than to hold the other woman as she fell apart. She wanted to wrap Jane up in pillows and duct tape and a helmet and never let her leave the house again. She wanted to be the buffer between Jane and all the bad in the world. It was a new feeling for sure, she'd never felt anything like it before. Briefly she wondered if it was a fraction of what Jane felt when her own life was in danger. She swallowed the budding lump in her throat. "Dinner is ready, Jane." Without a word Jane stood up going to the kitchen. She sat at the table. She could feel Maura keeping a watchful eye on her as she dished out the spaghetti onto both of their plates. After a few moments of silent chewing, Maura spoke. "Your mother wanted me to ask you if you would play the piano at Christmas."

Jane's hand stopped moving, her posture immediately growing tense. "My mother knows the answer to that question already."

Maura noticed the change in atmosphere. "I never knew you played. You're mother said you were very good at it."

"I wasn't some prodigy, Maura." Jane said tersely before taking a generous swallow of her water.

"Why don't you want to play?" Maura knew she was pushing, probably a little too much, but she didn't really care.

"I don't want to talk about it." Jane sighed.

"You never want to talk about anything." Maura countered passive aggressively taking a bite of her own pasta.

Jane dropped her fork looking pointedly across the table at Maura. "I learned to play piano because it was the only way she would let me play little league. I kept playing because it made her happy."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"Maura," Jane warned. "You keep pushing this and you're going to find things out about me out that you don't want to know. So I'd stop if I were you."

"You can't just lock me out of your life whenever you feel like it, Jane. How do you know that I don't want to know?"

"Maura." Jane tried again.

"Is it because of your hands?"

Jane rolled her eyes. "Sure."

"Jane."

"What do you want from me, Maura?" Jane pushed her plate forward. She was done eating.

"I want you to talk to me, Jane. I want to actually _be_ your best friend. I want you to feel safe talking to me. I want you to trust me enough to let me help you."

Silence and tension laced the air around them before Jane found the right words to say. "A lot of things changed." Jane admitted thickly. "After," She held up her hands in Maura's direction yet still avoided her gaze. "Things just changed. It was my first time almost dying. What happened in the basement wasn't the type of near death experience I thought might happen if I became a cop. I thought I'd get shot," She gave a dry laugh. "Or get stabbed by an armed robbery suspect or something. But for it to happen with a man like Hoyt who made it so personal, it just – it just changed a lot of things." She looked up at Maura pleading with her eyes to not make her say it. But Maura was looking back at her with a curious expression on her face waiting for more. Jane swallowed. "I mostly played piano at church." She bit her lip willing the tears to stay at bay. She hoped Maura knew what admitting what she was about to meant. "I know I put on a good show but I don't really think I…I don't think I believe anymore." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Mostly…um, mostly it's because I – I've killed people. And that's kind of frowned upon, you know? And because doing this job for as long as I have, I've seen some people do some shitty things to each other in the name of God. How, in good faith, am I supposed to put myself in line with those people?" She shrugged. She could've gotten over both of those but it was the last one that made her question everything. "But I…I think the biggest thing is because… because I've looked death in the face twice now, and nothing happened. There was no – no divine light, no voice telling me it was going to be okay, no hope." Her voice cracked on the last word. "A lot," She coughed. "A lot of things just changed. I don't play the piano because it reminds me how different things were – how different_ I_ was. And it – it makes me feel like somehow he won." Her heart was pounding. She never told anyone what she just confessed to Maura and it was taking its toll on her. Jane hastily stood from her seat. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Jane was up and out of her chair long before Maura was done processing everything that just happened. Whatever she thought it was that was bothering Jane that definitely was not it. Before she could reassure Jane the taller woman was already stalking towards the bathroom. Maura started putting the dishes away in the dishwasher when she saw Jane sit on the couch. There was so much that she wanted to say, so much, yet she didn't know how. She didn't have Jane's strength of knowing the right words to say, more often than not she put her foot in her mouth in such delicate situations of the heart. She finished with the dishes as she let herself collect her thoughts. Finally, she wiped her hands clean and stepped into the living room, taking a seat on the coffee table across from Jane. "Jane." The detective barely flinched at her voice. Maura reached out grabbing the other woman's hands. The fact that Jane didn't pull away didn't go unnoticed by either of them. Still, Jane refused to meet Maura's eyes. "We've known each other five years, correct?" The detective nodded. "In that time we've grown to be best friends." It wasn't a question but Jane nodded anyways. "In that time I've learned a lot from you."

Jane scoffed. "Because learning to drink beer and play darts is very instrumental to your growth as a human being."

Maura gave Jane a knowing look. "I've learned more than those things from you, Jane. And I'm confident enough to say you've learned from me as well."

"I have." Jane answered.

Maura nodded her head with a faint smile. "Do you trust me?"

Jane rolled her eyes, finally meeting Maura's. "You know I do." She squeezed Maura's hands. "We weren't close before it happened. And I came down to the morgue to watch you do an autopsy on a case that wasn't even mine because…"

"You needed to get over your fear of scalpels." Maura finished for her, remembering the memory for herself.

Jane nodded. "Yes. Although, I didn't even tell you that's why I was down there you just sort of pointed it out spouting some fact about fear and triggers. I don't even remember." She chuckled lightly.

"We both helped each other. You helped ease my fear of people." Maura smiled squeezing Jane's hands for added emphasis. "And you've helped me so much since then, let me help you again." She could feel the tension start to ease back into Jane's form. "Jane," Maura looked directly into Jane's dark eyes as she spoke. "It's okay to not be okay." As soon as the words left her mouth she saw a rush of fear and anxiety dance across the detective's face.

Jane tried to jerk away but Maura held her hands in place. "Maura." Her voice was full of warning.

"Jane, do you know why Hoyt didn't win? He didn't win, not because you killed him, though I do owe you my life for that. He didn't win because you are still kind and gracious and you still have such a big heart."

"Stop." She still didn't yank her hands away.

Maura kept going. "Maybe, maybe you don't believe in the things you were brought up to believe in but you are still the same person. You're still the same tenacious, fierce, headstrong, lovable, loyal, badass detective you were before. He didn't break you."

"Shut up!" Then she did yank her hands away. Jane stood abruptly knocking her knees against Maura's.

Maura stood following closely behind Jane. "I'm not saying you have to talk about it, although science does suggest it helps. I'm just saying it's okay to let yourself be hurt."

"You don't make any sense!" Jane snapped rounding on Maura. "You tell me I'm not broken but I can still be not okay? Those two things don't coincide with each other, Maura!"

"There's a difference, Jane, and you know it." Maura replied in an even voice.

The dam broke inside Jane and the words just started tumbling out of her mouth. "I shot myself and I got awarded for it. People think I'm some goddamn hero for all the stupid shit I do. And I look at my hands and I think how unfair everything is. I think about how I brought my best friend into my nightmare. He tried to kill you, Maura. How do you even trust me after that? How do you even look at me after I lost control of the situation like I did? I brought a civilian into a room with a deranged serial killer because I wasn't brave enough to go alone. I almost lost you." And then all at once the fight was gone. She slid down the wall her back was up against with a heavy sigh. She pulled her knees to her chest.

Maura sat beside Jane with her legs crossed thankful for wearing pants. "Heroine: a woman of distinguished courage or ability, admired for her brave deeds and noble qualities. That's you, Jane." She placed her hand on Jane's leg. "You couldn't have talked me out of going even if you wanted to. If it had been anyone else – if you had been any different – the Boston police department would have had to look for a new chief medical examiner and hire a new homicide detective. And there have been countless other cases, other situations, where you have gone above and beyond the call of duty to help people. You may not want to believe it, you may not see it, but that puts you above the rest. And I'm proud to call you my best friend and I'm a better person for knowing you." She grabbed Jane's hand placing over the place on her chest where her heart beat. "You didn't lose me, you saved me." She smiled at Jane. "Every hero needs a person they can be a regular person around, be it a butler or a love interest or a side kick. Let me be that person for you, Jane."

"Sidekick or love interest?" Jane asked in a thick voice.

"Whatever you need me to be." The hand against her skin flexed. Jane's eyes met hers, searching for something, before looking away. Jane gave a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping forward in defeat. Maura entwined her fingers with the hand she was holding. "It's okay to not be okay." She repeated.

Jane licked her dry lips and sniffed. "I'm not…" She bit her lip. She went into a full body shake before her face crumpled. "I'm not okay, Maura." Maura wrapped her arms tightly around Jane tightly. And then, only then, did Maura feel Jane finally let go.

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**A/N:** I thought it might've been slightly out of character but a person can't always be strong and sometimes things are too if you want something lighter and fun I suggest you go read Family because it's complete and utter cheese and it's cute.


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